The Children of Satan
by Invader Vega
Summary: One time I wrote a Mary Sue. This is it. Oh well.
1. It's Dangeous Down Here

The Viscount Raoul de Chagny stepped out of his carriage, and was greeted with a blast of wind. He looked up at the Opera Populairè, which cut an imposing figure against the night sky, and sighed. How many more days would he have to suffer through this mind-numbing patronage?

His brother Phillipe had arranged all this, hoping that Raoul would someday become the nobleman he was born to be. He had conveniently ignored the fact that Raoul had wanted to be an artist since the day he was born as well. _Well, it's all for your well-being, Raoul_, he had said so many times.

To hell with his well-being. Raoul hated this endless stream of parades and money. But then, it was always like that, wasn't it? The rich had always wanted what commoners had.

"…Monsieur." Raoul's carriage driver said quietly. Raoul looked to him.

"What is it, Ferdinand?" he asked.

"Look." Ferdinand pointed into the shadows that surrounded the Opera Populairè.

Standing there was a woman. She was wearing a black dress, which was rather short and came up to her mid-calves, and a long black cloak that whipped in the breeze. Her long hair was black as well, and blew loosely around her face. She also wore a white half-mask that hid the right side of her face.

Her yellow eyes glittered with what could only be amusement. The woman raised her hand, and beckoned for Raoul to follow her.

"What…?" Raoul wondered.

"I, uh…I s'pose I'll bring the carriage around back, then." Ferdinand said tensely, and drove the carriage off. Raoul went off after the young woman, his curiosity aroused.

As soon as he stepped foot into the darkness, a high, lilting, almost musical laugh met his ears. Then, on the other side of him, he heard a whispering giggle.

_"Curious, are you boy? Wondering who this young woman is who wears a mask and such strange apparel?"_

"Where are you?" Raoul called to the never-ending blackness. His plea elicited another laugh from the young woman.

_"I can be anywhere I like. Yes, so very curious, yes…curiosity killed the cat, did you know, boy?"_

He could not answer her, the breath knocked out of him from running.

"_Well, since you're so intent on following me, I suppose I'll have to reveal myself!"_

She appeared in the stream of light from a nearby window. Her beautiful face was contorted with that infuriating smirk. Then, in one fluid motion, she slid into the cellar of the operahouse.

Raoul had once heard a story about this particular operahouse and the being that lived below it, but he did not remember it presently. He followed her into the cellar.

Almost as soon as he hit the ground, he met the eyes of a man wearing the same mask as the young woman, but on the other side of his face.

"Monsieur, can I help you?" he said, his voice icy.

"I…er…I was following a young woman down here…she, er…led me down." Raoul finished lamely.

The man's eyes narrowed.

"I see. Well, there is no woman down here. It is very dangerous, so I suggest you leave. We are…doing some construction. I believe you are here to see the opera?" he said in that same dangerously cold voice.

Raoul might have been many things, but he knew he was not a brave man. So, he quickly climbed up and out of the cellar, brushed himself off, and went to go inside.

The man sighed. "It's safe now, Eris."

Eris poked her head out from behind the large stone column. Her lustrous black hair was disheveled, and she still had that frightening smirk on her face.

"Did you bring that man down here to kill him?" he asked her. She ran her hand through her hair, looking confident.

"Maybe I did. What of it?" she said haughtily. The man looked furious.

"What _of it?_ Eris, you could have gotten us caught! Do you have any idea how much danger you put us in? What if he had _escaped?_" he yelled.

"He wouldn't have escaped if you hadn't let him go, _Erik._" Eris said, spitting out his name. "I do it all the time and you never complain."

Erik was silent. He slinked over to his organ, but did not play. Eris sighed.

"Eris…how can you kill people so heartlessly and uncaringly?" Erik did not turn around to look at her when he spoke.

"Because I am a child of Satan. It's what I do. I enjoy it. It's in my soul. You can see it painted on my face." Eris said, stroking her mask with a tinge of pride.

"Evil is in my nature," she said. "And I love it."

There was a long silence between them. Erik laid his hands on the keys, but still did not play.

"Just because you are a child of Satan doesn't mean you can't try to be good," he said.

"You don't." Eris pointed out.

"I only kill when I need to. And I don't enjoy it like you do." He stood up roughly. "I'm going to watch the opera to see my student sing. I'll be back later. Don't go wandering around, otherwise they'll suspect."

"Of course not, dear brother." Eris said, fingers crossed behind her back.


	2. Opening Night

Erik stealthily made his way up to Box 5, and took his seat. It was a full house tonight, which meant they were all coming to see his _protégé_. This pleased him immensely, as he had worked very hard training her.

There was an envelope on the seat next to Erik's, addressed _Monsieur/Mademoiselle O.G_. He opened it with his thumb. Inside were 20,000 francs, bound with a strip of paper. There was no note, but Erik had not expected there to be. He quietly pocketed most of the money, but left a few thousand francs on the seat for Madame Giry to collect later.

The lights darkened as the opera began. Erik leaned back in his chair, as the orchestra began to play. He was pleasantly surprised to see that for once, the orchestra could all play in tune. The cello was especially gorgeous, and he made a mental note to tell the new managers to give the man a raise. The dancers were decent, but he noticed significant, glaring flaws in their performance. No doubt Madame Giry would chew them out later about that.

The chorus was sub-par without Christine, he noted. This would not do at all. They would all have to be fired.

Then came Elissa's big aria. Erik leaned forward as Christine took the stage. She was gorgeous in her gown of white silk and lace, and without thinking he took in a sharp intake of breath.

_What's wrong with you? You've seen her before,_ he thought angrily.

These thoughts dissipated as soon as she began to sing. It was perfect, to say the very least. Clearly, he had not wasted his time on this promising…_beautiful_…young woman. He could not keep his eyes off her. It was as if he was in a trance.

He was broken from his trance by some fool shouting "Bravo!". Erik resisted the powerful urge to go up to the box the man was sitting in and strangle him. How dare he interrupt such a beautiful performance? But then, he settled back down, resisting the urge to kill.

_You need to set a good example for Eris. And Christine, too…you wouldn't want to ruin her big night with a murder…_

Christine resumed the song. She was reaching the end now…this was the part La Carlotta had mutilated so horribly before in rehearsals…

It was absolutely perfect. But Erik expected no less of Christine. She was after all the image of perfection.

"Christine…"

>

Eris had snuck out of the lair long ago, with only one idea in her head: causing mayhem. She was supremely bored, having grown tired of trying to plink out a song on Erik's organ.

She followed the path Erik had taken to the boxes in the Opera, and selected one at random. She opened the trapdoor that led to the box, and saw someone sitting there. It was a man with a rather foolish ponytail, cheering for the young woman currently on stage. Eris supposed it was Erik's student.

She hid herself in the shadows like Erik had taught her, and threw her voice so it was at the man's ear.

"_Enjoying the opera, Monsieur?"_ she said mockingly. The man looked behind him, startled, but saw no one.

"Who is there? Show yourself!" he cried. Eris made her voice appear at his other ear, and giggled.

"_I remember you. You're the little nobleman who decided to chase me."_

The man's voice was uncertain. "You lured me there. And I have a name."

"Do you? What, pray tell, is this name of which you speak?" 

"Raoul," he said, rather nervously. Eris laughed again, making him shiver. She took a step out of the shadows and stepped behind him.

"Are you not going to turn around and look at me?" Eris said scathingly. Raoul stood, facing her. She was very pretty with her long black hair falling in her face, but she wore such _strange_ clothing. She wore a bright red linen dress with no sleeves, no petticoats, and no corset. Raoul was utterly shocked. Eris only laughed.

"That is the general reaction, yes. Perhaps the noblemen don't like red."

"Red is…red is…." Raoul spluttered.

"Red. Yes. We have established that it is red." Eris twirled around, showcasing the shocking dress. "Are you going to come with me this time?"

"Come with you _where, _you annoying girl?" Raoul asked irritably.

"To my home. My brother chased you off last time because he thought I might kill you." Eris said in a singsong voice.

"And would that be something you are likely to do?" Raoul asked.

"You'll just have to find out." Eris said, grinning. She took Raoul by the hand, and pulled him out of the box.


	3. A Noble Art

_What a strange little girl_, Raoul thought. _She might be dangerous._

The young masked woman known to him only as Eris had taken him to what he imagined was several feet below the Opera House. It was disgustingly slimy, a condition Raoul rarely saw. There were several candelabras on the walls, which illuminated a filthy, damp corridor and the eerie white mask that made her look like a ghostly nymph.

"Pick up the pace, _mon chere!_" Eris whispered. Raoul almost shivered at the endearment. Eris noticed, and chuckled at his discomfort.

"Why am I coming with you?" Raoul asked aloud, but mostly to himself.

"Sheer curiosity, darling." Eris said, clasping his hand. Oddly enough, Raoul did not immediately rip his hand away from her frosty grasp. _What are you doing?_ _This girl is not only young, but dangerous too! _Raoul thought furiously. And yet he couldn't seem to tear his hand away. Her grip was exceptionally powerful, stronger than any woman's Raoul had ever known. He realized with a start that she had intertwined her fingers with his.

"I am such a little soubrette, am I not?" Eris laughed. "The only difference is that - " Eris stopped to unlatch what appeared to be a door. She stepped through, and Raoul followed her. " – I am subservient to _no one._"

Raoul furrowed his eyes. "You are a woman, and that makes you subservient." Eris spun around, and gave him an icy black stare. She tore her hand away, and placed her face so near to his that he could feel her hot breath on his neck.

"I imagine that I would be subservient above my humble home. I see what happens to young women. But you see, dear Raoul, below the ground _I am the master of life and death_, and you would do well to remember that. Below the Operahouse, men whimper in fear before my judgment. And if I am not treated like an equal in my own home, _you will join their ranks_."

Raoul suddenly realized with a jolt of horror why the young woman had brought him down to this wretched place. _She means to kill me. She will drown me, or poison my food, or some other ghastly method of murder…I must somehow escape._

Eris kept her distance from Raoul, turning back once in awhile to scowl at him. Eventually, they reached what appeared to be an opaque pane of glass. Eris grabbed a latch on the pane, and pulled it open, revealing a small doorway covered with thick red curtains. She pulled him through the curtains, and they were in a large flooded cave that was lit with a thousand candles. An enormous portcullis sealed what appeared to be the only way out. There was an enormous organ on one side, crowded with papers and wells of ink. Most of the cave was covered in sheet music and drawings of a young woman with long brown hair, but a smaller part of the cave was dedicated to something else entirely.

It was hung with many brightly colored silken scarves, and surrounded by enormous jars of paint. In the center was an easel, with a half-finished painting on it of two women in an unspeakable position. Stacked beside it were many more canvases, some of which were hanging on the wall. Although the paintings were varied in the subject matter, they were all similar in 2 aspects. The first was that they were dark, very dark. Each one was morbid, sinister, desperate even. The second was that they were unspeakably sensual. Something about the way the blood fell to the ground, the curl of the ivy on the fence, even the girl's expression with a knife in her chest seemed to speak of hot, sweaty nights and the sounds of passion.

Raoul looked at Eris, and decided nobody else could possibly paint such things, and so eloquently. She herself was dark and sensual, he mused.

_Do not think such things. She is a child, a confused child, _Raoul thought wildly. _Do not forget, she wants to kill you._

His thoughts were interrupted by Eris taking his shoulders and whispering in his ear. He bit back the involuntary groan that almost escaped his throat, horrified.

"You're beautiful. Pose for me," she purred. Eris released him, and darted to the easel. She removed the painting of the women, and placed a blank one in its place. She turned to Raoul, gesturing for him to come closer. Raoul raised one eyebrow, but complied.

"You want me to…pose?" Raoul asked, somewhat skeptical.

"You're right, yes, yes…you would only look silly posing, just sit…" Eris muttered, and she pulled out a luxurious red armchair. "Sit! Sit and I shall paint you!" she said, her voice growing in volume a little. He obediently sank down into the chair, and Eris immediately jabbed her brush into a jar of light beige paint.

Raoul watched her intently as she painted. It was as if she was a different person. She was no longer the arrogant, dominant little girl she had been a moment ago. Her eyes glowed feverishly, and she painted so fast it looked as if the paint was seeping out of the canvas itself.

He could make out his face taking shape, boyish and with short hair. It looked like him, and yet it did not. The acrylic Raoul had the same qualities as the flesh-and-blood Raoul, but the look in his eyes was strange and foreign. She was adding the same spirit she had added to the other paintings.

"Yes, yes…" murmured Eris. "Perfect shading, just perfect…"

Raoul turned his face away from Eris, and looked instead at her table filled with pots of paint. She seemed to have every hue in the rainbow. But one was missing; there was no red…

An indeterminate amount of time passed. Raoul watched Eris as she slowed suddenly and began to meticulously detail each little hair, every grain of the leather. He looked to the large organ on the other side of the cave, and wondered if Eris played music as well. Perhaps she lived with someone else who did…but who else would inhabit such a cold, damp place?

"There! It is complete!" Eris cried suddenly, pulling the canvas off with a flourish. She twirled it around in barely restrained glee. "Look! Look, Vicomte!" Raoul looked back to Eris, who held the painting up for him to see. It was an amazingly lifelike picture. He was reminded strongly of looking in the mirror.

"It's lovely, _lovely._ So simple, so complex, yes…" Eris rambled.

"Mademoiselle?" Raoul asked. Eris seemed to snap out of her passionate state at the sound of Raoul's voice, and reverted to the calm, chilling demeanor she had used earlier.

"Yes?"

"May I…may I see more of these paintings?" he asked hesitantly. Eris raised an eyebrow, and ran her hand over the canvases stacked against her easel.

"You want to…see them?" she asked in confusion.

"Yes." Raoul responded, puzzled as to her hesitation. For a moment, Eris looked horrified and confused. She stepped away from him, and backed up into the now-blank easel. Then, she straightened up and cleared her throat.

"Of course." She reached for the heavy stack of canvases, and was surprisingly able to lift the lot of them without buckling. She placed them in Raoul's lap, then turned away from him and slunk into one of the caverns.

"No! Stay out!" Madame Giry shouted to the screaming crowd outside Christine's dressing room. She turned to the young ingénue.

"Well done, Christine. You sang wonderfully tonight." The ballet instructor turned away, taking a rose from the table. It was red, with a black satin ribbon tied around it. Christine recognized the rose, though only faintly. When she was very young, a teenaged La Carlotta Giudicelli had received one after her first starring role in an opera. But it was only a faded memory.

"It is pleased with you." Madame Giry said. Christine raised an eyebrow.

"It…?" she asked questioningly. Madame Giry looked at her, surprised.

"The Opera Ghost, Christine. It enjoyed your performance tonight. It is good for you to stay in its good graces, dear, for it is a dangerous being…"

"I did not think you were a superstitious woman, Madame Giry." Christine said, trying to make her voice lighthearted. But she could not deny the sense of fear that pervaded the operahouse, nor the notes that came to the manager demanding money, or the mysterious and frequent deaths of stagehands and the brats of the ballet. Deep in her mind, she knew that Madame Giry knew what she spoke of.

"I suggest you go to bed, Christine." Madame Giry said quietly, handing Christine the rose. She nodded, and Madame Giry left the room.

She sank down onto the chair in front of her vanity, her mind somewhere else entirely. Meg hadn't believed her when she told her about her angel. Christine admitted to herself that her story was far-fetched, but what else could explain the voice she heard in her head?

Christine sighed. Maybe she really was insane. She picked up her hairbrush, and began to attempt to straighten her thick, curly locks.

She did not hear someone turning the key in the lock and removing it from her door.

"Bloody curls…" Christine muttered, slightly surprised at her own use of profanity.

"_Mademoiselle, your hair could never be more ravishing than it is now,_" came a voice out of nowhere that seemed right next to her ear. Christine blushed furiously. She was quite used to her Angel speaking compliments to her, but she didn't believe any of them to be true.

"I did do good tonight, didn't I, Angel?" she asked nobody.

"_You did wonderfully. The angels wept tonight,_" nobody replied. Christine turned a brighter shade of red, if it was possible. Then, she remembered what she had been thinking about before he had arrived.

"Angel?"

"_Hmm?_"

"Are you real? Am I imagining all of this?" she asked slowly. Christine heard a deep laugh.

"_I am quite real, Christine,_" the voice said. Christine swallowed the lump that had just formed in her throat.

"Show me?" Christine asked. There was an uncomfortable silence between them.

"_Show you?_" the voice asked.

"I want to see the musical genius who taught me to sing like this." Christine said, voice wavering. "Please."

The voice chuckled darkly.

"_Flattering child, you shall know me_  
_See why in shadow I hide  
__Look at your face in the mirror  
__I am there inside!"_

Christine stood, and looked in the mirror. Suddenly, a figure appeared, his head just above her own. He was very tall and thin, with black hair and glowing yellow eyes. He was dressed entirely in black, except for a stark white mask that covered half of his face.

She stepped toward the mirror, putting a hand out to the mirror, touching it.

"_Angel of music_  
_Guide and guardian  
__Grant to me your glory  
__Angel of music  
__Hide no longer  
__Come to me strange angel!" _she sang. The angel's voice dropped.

"_I am your angel of music_  
_Come to me, angel of music…"_ he sang.

To Christine's surprise, her hand went right through the mirror.

"_I am your angel of music_  
_Come to me, angel of music_…"

She took his outstretched hand, her mind in a haze.

_What the hell am I doing?_ Erik thought wildly.


End file.
